Armageddon
by screaming-poetically
Summary: She’s never been close to God but she finds herself praying that he’ll be okay and figures that this is as close as she’s going to get. Spoilers for 2.24. FlackLindsay.


**Title:** Armageddon  
**Summary:** She's never been close to God but she finds herself praying that he'll be okay and figures that this is as close as she's going to get. FL.  
**Disclaimer:** The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
**A/N:** Based on spoilers for episode 2.24. The lyrics featured are from the song "Samson." Story not related to my trilogy involving ADP, Breathe In, and Breathe Out. Yeah. I'm on a roll and I love Flack. He's like, my boy.  
**Rating:** T

**Armageddon**

_"__And the Bible didn't mention us, not even once  
You are my sweetest downfall, I loved you first."  
__-Regina Spektor_

Above her, the timid sky behind the clouds is pale and purple-gray; a flock of starlings lifts above the thicket of skyscrapers and independent, swaying mass of people. There is a stillness, suddenly, odd and trembling and brief, and she reaches to grasp Don's hand but he isn't there. The emptiness startles her and she remembers the past few hours and a weight settles in the center of her chest.

Down in the city, only a few minutes away, the church bells are ringing. She hurries through the crowds towards the sound because she needs to find a safe place, peace and harmony and someplace where she can be heard. A service was ending, and the congregation of sensitive young men and women and black-scarved grandmothers drifted slowly out. After they had all gone, Lindsay walks down the aisle and settles quietly onto a bench in the middle of the church. She looks at the tapered candles, at the crucifix above the main altar. At the priest who's heading her way.

She's never been close to God but she finds herself praying that he'll be okay and figures that this is as close as she's going to get.

"There are signs everywhere," the priest says.

"What?" she asks.

"You look lost. The Lord puts signs along the way to show us where we need to go, if only we look to them."

And Lindsay is lost, but not because she needs directions. She's lost without Don, she doesn't know what to do. He's hurt and she doesn't know how to help him and fuck, now she's crying. She hates this. Hates how much it hurts. She remembers when it first started hurting.

Don was late for dinner and she didn't know why. They had entered into this odd sort of relationship where they'd meet for dinner or breakfast and he'd look like he wanted to kiss her but he wouldn't. She had called him but he hadn't answered his phone so she assumed he was just working a little late on a case. But then Mac had called her, had come to her apartment an hour after she had gotten worried. She knows something is wrong the moment she opens the door and looks in his eyes. Mac has never looked that way, he couldn't look in her eyes at first but when he does there was something wrong and she knew he was deciding what to tell her.

"Lindsay," he said, "something's happened to Don."

Then Mac tells her about the bomb placed at police headquarters and how Don was there when it happened. As they were speaking Don was being transported to New York Community Hospital. From that look in Mac's eyes she could tell he was hurt pretty badly, that she had reason to worry and that she might lose the one thing in the world that meant most to her.

They ride in silence and she can tell that Mac wanted to say something several times but she just looks out the window at the city passing by. She asks him one time if he can go any faster and she's sure, even at this point, that Mac broke several traffic laws to accommodate her request. It's cold and they pass the police headquarters and it's on fire, there's smoke and Mac swears because it was completely unintentional to pass it on the way to the hospital.

"Shit. Lindsay, I'm sorry."

She doesn't say anything and neither does Mac, because above anyone else he knows what it's like to worry like this. To feel an ache so deep that it burns you from the inside, just thinking about what might be happening. When they get to the hospital Mac shows his badge to the nurse at the front desk and he takes Lindsay to the elevator and they ride in silence. When the doors open there are cops everywhere. It smells of used smoke and there's broken bones and cuts, abrasions. Burns. She doesn't look at them, she's looking for Don. On she walks. It seems that when she passes people they stop talking—or maybe that's just Lindsay's imagination.

He's in surgery so she has to wait. Lindsay decides that the waiting is the worst part of all this. The not knowing. She asks herself a million questions. Is he okay? Will he make it? How bad are his injuries? If he dies, will Don think of me? She thinks herself awfully selfish with that last question, but Lindsay knows that deep down it's not all that bad. She wants him to feel her, to know her. She remembers something Don said to her once.

"_I don't have any secrets, Don."_

_He looks at her, never willing to believe that she doesn't have anything to hide. He leans against her kitchen counter and considers her a moment before saying,_

"_Everyone has secrets, Lindsay. Your secrets…maybe they just aren't like other people's secrets. Nobody wants to know them."_

_She frowned._

"_Then why do you want to know them?"_

_"I want to know you. Sort of like a map. I want to be able to navigate my way through you, know all the twists and turns, highways and tunnels, all the backroads. I want to know everything, not because I'm nosy or too curious, but because I care."_

She supposes it's rude to bring a cellphone into a church, but she does anyways. Lindsay told Mac to call her if anything happened, if there were any developments in Don's condition. After two hours, he was still in surgery. She had to leave, had to find a place where she could think and no, not pray, but hope for him. And a church seemed like the best place because, why not, people go there for forgiveness and hope. Lindsay heard somewhere never to deprive somebody of hope because it might be all they have. She holds to that, especially in this moment, because hope is all she has when she thinks of Don and whether he'll be okay.

"Well, my child? What signs are you waiting for?"

The tear tracks down her cheeks are drying and she takes deep breaths. Calm. This is tearing her apart, but she doesn't know how to fix it, the tearing, and even if she did Lindsay knows she wouldn't want to. Some part of her realizes that somewhere along the line she must've gone offtrack with Don, something must've changed—feelings, maybe—and now she just wants to be. Wants to be happy, be a family, be safe, be with _him_.

She grasps the priest's hand and looks into his eyes. Lindsay once was lost but now she's found.

"I've never been close to God but I find myself praying, so hard, that he'll be okay. That he'll live so I can love him and he can know that. And maybe, maybe that's all it takes, Father. I figure that this is as close as I'm going to get to the Lord," she says.

The priest moves to say something but she's already up and walking, she's out the door and hailing a cab. She's going back to the hospital, back to Don and where her heart lies bruised and beaten in a sterilized room. Mac calls when she's in the cab to tell her that Don got out of surgery a half hour ago and that he's resting. She's angry at Mac for only a moment for not calling her like he said he would, but the anger passes and is replaced with relief. Don's okay, he's okay and she is too. Thank God for that. As soon as that phrase passes through Lindsay's mind she sort of regrets it, but not really. With Don, every breath she draws is hallelujah.

When she gets to New York Community Hospital the doctor at first won't let Lindsay into the room, but she just wants to be with Don. She won't talk, she tells the doctor, or move or even breathe if that's what it takes. She just wants to be with him and make sure he's okay, make sure he's real because she was so scared when she found out he was hurt it felt like she couldn't breathe. It felt like she was dying. And the doctor, who knows what that feels like, lets Lindsay into the room and Don's asleep so she watches over him, almost like an angel.

He's pretty battered up, cuts from shrapnel on his face and arms. He has a pretty deep cut on his left temple that must've been some trouble to stitch up. It'll probably leave a scar but Lindsay thinks scars are sexy; at least on Don. If Danny had one he'd use it to pick up girls. He probably already does. Don's right arm is broken and the doctor said a large piece of shrapnel pierced his abdomen, causing nearly fatal bleeding. Lindsay realizes that he was one of the lucky ones. It could have been a lot worse. She considers herself a good person, but she'll never tell anyone that a small part of her is so grateful that other men died and he lived.

When she wakes up Don is watching her intently, and probably has been for some time. She's a notorious late sleeper. They don't say anything for a while, just sit until the silence gets so heavy that Don breaks it.

"Sorry I was late for dinner."

It makes Lindsay laugh, what Don said, it relieves somewhat her tension and the worry and oh god the hurt, the tearing apart. It just bubbles until she's laughing uncontrollably and Don's grinning too but she guesses it hurts because he groans and rubs his abdomen gingerly. She moves closer to him and holds his hand.

"Don," she says at length, "I was really worried about you, you know."

"Nah," he says. "Not me, Monroe. 'Tis but a fleshwound."

She actually hits him, right where the bandage on his stomach is, and he bites back a cry. She narrows her eyes and she's angry, angry at herself and almost at him, and she doesn't like it. Doesn't like how he takes this—his life, her, her worry, even—for granted. If that's even what's happening but she's not thinking clearly, not now.

"This isn't a joke! I was worried, so worried. I went to church, Don. _Church_. I prayed, really prayed, for you to be okay because I don't know what I'd do if you weren't. I love you and here you are, joking about the whole thing as if it didn't mean anything when really it did. I almost lost you and…"

He grips her hand tightly and she trails off. Lindsay hadn't realized how loud she was talking. She was almost yelling and she feels bad, almost. Almost.

"You're kind of cute when you're angry, Lindsay. Know that?"

She sighs. She's too tired to offer a sardonic reply. Besides, she usually saves those for Danny.

"Now I do."

He grins and stokes lazy circles onto the palm of her hand, but when he looks up at her his blue eyes are serious and focused.

"You love me?"

She bites her bottom lip and nods. She wishes she could speak but she really can't, not now. He takes her breath away, not usually but when he asks that question and his eyes meet hers she feels almost…_other_. Like she's somewhere else and all she can see is him, he's a compass leading her home across the sea.

Don looks at her again and he offers a slight smile. He looks out the window to the greenery beyond, and back to the uncertain hazel gaze that meets his own.

"Can't say I mind that, as I feel the same. Won't be much use, here in this hospital bed. How 'bout we make up that dinner? I hear the hospital makes a killer macaroni and cheese," he says hopefully.

Lindsay leans over and kisses him softly on the mouth, a quick kiss with the promise of more, and says, "I can arrange that."

_Finis._


End file.
